Crumbs, Excerpts, Specimens, and Samples
by Arisprite
Summary: Or, glipses of the lives of a dectetive and a doctor. This is where I will put my ficlets fancys, and nagging ideas about Holmes, Watson and their world. Anything from Humour to Angst, Rated T to be safe, no slash. UPDATED! Watsons woes challege 11 entry
1. Chapter 1

A/N: A converstation on the forums got me thinking about Homes first taking a life, and how it might affect him. This is such a little ficlet, and I may someday go more deeper into this issue, but for now, and as an apolgy for being so very absent lately, here is 300 words worth of Holmes angst! :)

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"Many that live deserve death. And some die that deserve life. Can you give it to them?"

J. R. R. Tolkien

The taking of a life. Killing. Murder. In the name of justice? Or revenge, or love, or any of the countless reasons humans take the lives of other humans. Is there a difference between killing in the name of the law, and against it? Why am I, who pulled a trigger and sent a man to the grave, different from a murderer? We both had our reasons, why were mine better?

Logically I know I was protecting the people of London against a killer. The man would have slaughtered us, before turning to others. I was glad he hadn't the chance to do so.

But the scene played before my eyes. I knew the man was inside, and he had a young woman. I had my revolver, and when I heard her scream, I knew I could not wait for the police. I charged inside, and found her yet unharmed in the grip of the wild-eyed man. I ordered him to unhand her, but he pulled out a long knife. My eyes widened as he raised his arm to plunge in into the heart of the lady. I was too far. I shot to kill.

The memories danced in front of my eyes, obscuring the street facing the low wall on which I sat. My eyes stared at the mixture of crimson dripping from a hole in a man's chest, and the bay mares rushing by pulling a handsom cab. My shaking fingers still felt the gun, the trigger ever squeezing. My stomach churned at the smell of fresh blood.

I jerked at a hand on my shoulder. Lestrade peered at me.

"You alright, Mr. Holmes?"

I schooled my features.

"Fine," and I turned, heading to my room at Montague Street, and hoping my neighbors wouldn't be disturbed this night.

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Thanks for reading! Now tell me what you think! :)


	2. I'm A Doctor

A/N: This was written for the Watson's_Woes challege 011, where we had to use a Dr. McCoy (from Star Trek) cliche word for word in our story. I've underlined it to help you find it :) The challenge was I believe, meant to be funny, but this story popped into my head, and I couldn't let it go. So here it is.

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Often on Holmes' cases, we would encounter atrocities that would horrify and disgust us; but never in our time together had I seen such a thing as I saw that day; not hidden in the darkened parts of society, but displayed for the world to see.

We had gone undercover at a traveling fair, attempting to catch a murderer who used his trained lions to maul innocents. Holmes was dressed as a juggler in multicolored, bright clothing, and I (as I could not juggle to save my life) was his assistant.

We were jogging through the thoroughfare, trying to find the ringmaster –we were very close to seizing the killer—when I stopped in horror.

There, lying broken and battered in a tiny wire cage was a young Chinese girl, no more than four years old. Her hands and feet were webbed, and she had scrapes up and down her bare arms and legs. Her face was perfectly proportioned, heartbreaking in its perfection, the large brown eyes peering at me –Mary's exact shade. They pleaded, _save me_.

I snagged Holmes' sleeve, and he raised his brow at me. My eyes rested on the sign fixed to the cage.

SEE THE MERMAID GIRL

I bent down to the level of the girl.

"Hello, young one," I said gently. She stared wide-eyed back. Holmes gripped my shoulder.

"Doctor, we must go."

I turned on my knees, glaring.

"You cannot expect me to just leave her here!"

Holmes knelt to my level. "Watson, I agree that it's deplorable, but we can't _do _anything about it now. Meanwhile, a killer escapes to murder again!" He pulled my up by the elbow. "Remember why we're here." I jerked my arm away.

"Holmes, I am a doctor, not a circus clown!" I angrily tore the paisley scarf from my neck.

Just then, a man approached, and spoke to us in broken English.

"You like girl?" Here was the one responsible for this atrocity. I clenched my jaw.

"How much?" I pointed to the cage. He displayed his brown teeth.

"You like—" I grabbed him by his dirty lapels.

"How much?" I ground out. His eyes widened, and I dropped him. I tossed all the money in my pocket to the ground. "Unlock her." I would take her. Mary had had a friend who had longed for a little girl. She and her husband would care for her, and raise her as their own.

The repellant man was counting up the money. "No, no. Is too little…"

I growled, but then I felt a thin hand on my shoulder.

"This will cover the rest," said my friend's firm voice, as he held out a handful of gold. The man nodded, and opened the door.

It took no little gentle prompting, but once the girl was in my arms I turned to Holmes.

"I'll repay the money."

He quirked a smile at me.

"No need, my friend."

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A/N: Hope you liked it!


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Well a combination of school, bad moods, friends, and a flighty muse has led to my writing being brought to a standstill. I managed to awaken my muse enough to pound this out. I really apologize to those of you waiting for an update on The Counterfiet. I promise I will get there, I just...can't...right this moment. *grimace* soon I'll be out of school and then I will hopefully have more time, or at least brain power to get back in the game, so to speak :) Cheer, and enjoy this as a peace offering!

It was one of those rare afternoons, where I had an activity sufficient to keep me occupied, and silent enough that Watson didn't feel the need to take his writing upstairs. We both sat engaged in our own tasks, and perfectly happy in each other's company…

Or I would have been, if Watson would just stop his infernal sighing!

For what must have been the tenth time, I reached out to make a delicate adjustment to one of my chemical instruments, and at the critical moment, Watson exhaled noisily.

I gritted my teeth. I reached out again, timing my movement to coincide with his next inhalation. It was almost the perfect angle….just a millimeter more…

BANG!

I jumped, and whirled, seeing Watson absently shaking the fist he had pounded on the desk. Glancing back, I saw that my instrument was now hopelessly out of place. I rubbed my forehead; summoning every last ounce of patience that I possessed ―he started tapping his knuckles!

"Doctor, would you mind!" I snapped, glaring. He jumped, and peered at me.

"Beg your pardon?"

"Your sighing, tapping, knocking, and heaven forbid, banging is enough to drive anyone to distraction!" I turned sharply back to my chemical table, and began to recalibrate my tools. "What, pray tell, is making you so fidgety?"

Watson smiled ruefully.

"Writer's block."

A/N: I know how you feel Watson! And speaking of roommates making annoying sounds, mine was skyping last night till after midnight, and I just wanted to go to sleep without hearing her conversation with her boyfriend...gar. *ends rant*


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